Windows of a World
by Heaven's Archer
Summary: Some people believe windows exist in space, windows to different dimensions, times, realities. It is through these windows we can see things we might have never realised otherwise. Drabble Fics. Rating is only a precaution.
1. Chapter 1

AN: I'm a more than a bit of a pessimist when it comes to my work. So here's an idea I've gotten off the sites I visit. You know the deal, you write a small ficlet or drabble centering around a word or statement or quote or the like ;) Somewhere around 500ish words, maybe a bit less. I'll see what I can do anyway, I doubt it will be updated much.

My drabbles will be Harry Potter mini ficlets, cos I haven't written one on here. Not necessarily about the people, might be magic, a spell, a place mentioned etc. etc. Ok, Here comes number 1.

Disclaimer for the Entire Story: I have nowhere near the godlike patience or skill to create Harry Potter. Also, I would have a new laptop to be writing this on.

~Compose~

The world around us is full of magic.

Not just the normal kinds of magic that every wizard or witch is aware of: hexes, jinxes and charms. Magic was so much more. Even the muggles create some of the purest forms of magic known. They laugh, happiness, a magical spell that weaved through the air, infecting those that came into contact with it. Not that they ever minded.

When you walked past a young couple, so in love they believe they are invincible, or when you see a new mother and father's first loving look upon the being they created out of their love. This kind of magic gave hope, that a better day would come, that such things as better days still existed, and were not some day when you just barely survived. But a day where you lived.

Days like this were a perfect example.

The grass below gently, ruffling in the cooling breeze that came like a breath of fresh air from over the lake. The lake, despite its tendency to have multiple disappearances linking to it, was a calmer mirror, showing everything as it was. A clear blue sky, a quiet surrounding as the breeze played absently in those close enough's hair.

It birds chirped, the tree rustled, the children laughed.

The melodies weaved through the air, composing such a magnificent tune that it uplifted everybody's spirits. A symphony that even an old master could not hope to accomplish with everything at his disposal.

It was almost enough to make anybody forget that a war had only just finished.

But, there, like an out of tune instrument, the clashes sounded as you glanced around. The memorials littered the peaceful scene, the graves of those that had fallen, like a single instruments missing a cue, the entire symphony wavered and fell apart.

Life would never be the same.

Short. Sweet. I liked it actually. 312 words, but it got the point across, no rambling. Hmm,, might have to try this more often ;)


	2. Colours

Drabble Two: Colours

Red, Black, White and Gray.

Those were the only colours wizarding kind saw at the moment.

Red. The blood that stained the floor and walls of Hogwarts castle. The red stained the clothes of the fallen, disgusting and causing the crying wizards and witches no end of grief.

Black. The colour of the dark night that hid the pained. Their cries echoing as they cried for those lost. For those found too late. Black, the colour of the clothing worn to the furnerals as families and friends cried.

White. The colour of the roses lain over graves. The colour of the daisies now covering the gruesome battle field, like an artist's attempt to cover a misplaced circle on a priceless painting.

Gray. The colour of life. The one everyone's eyes were now open to. There was no good and evil. No dark or light. Only the colour gray. Only what they chose to see.

Red, Black, White and Gray. The only colours those two saw in that moment.

Red, her hair, gleaming in the sun as red as a priceless ruby. The escaped strands from her intricate bun flew daintily on the breeze.

Black, the colour of his suit, His hair, as he nervously played with the cuffs on his wrist. As he smilingly, ran his fingers through his hair.

White, the colour of her chiffon dress. Its lace train being carried by one of her young cousins. White, the colour of her smile as she caught sight of him down the end of the aisle.

Gray. The colour of their hair. As they imagined themselves growing old together. No matter how cheesy it sounded. They are together. Forever. And nobody was going to pull them apart again.


	3. Mesmerizing

Drabble 3: Mesmerizing

A sea of endless green, a green meadow filled with white daisies. A glimmering emerald, shining as if it was creating its own light.

Chocolate. A dark, rich colour, reflecting its taste. The earth, with its love, pain and hope. A beautiful topaz filled with love.

Granite. Not dark or evil, hard or unforgiving but more something that had a future. It could be sculpted, or it could be left as it was. Tall, proud and strong. A dark, mysterious Onyx

A red rose; Delicate, but with a firey bite. The warm glow of a hearth, as the fire crackled gently inside it. A ruby shining with happiness.

His eyes. Her eyes. His hair and hair hair, entangling gently in the breeze

His eyes. Her eyes. Gazing gently into each other, mesmerizing each other, shining with joy, hope, love. All the things that were right with the world seemed to echo in that one moment. The split second that everything fell away. That moment were nothing mattered, where the love was tangible. That second were wherever you were in the world, that split second you felt the surge of love that bubbled over. You could feel it. You could taste it like chocolate on your tongue.

It was like something forbidden, but that you had to taste. They had coveted, they had tasted.

There was no going back.

But then again, they never wanted to in the first place.


	4. The Sun and Moon

Drabble 4: The Sun and Moon

The sun and the moon, to entities that working together in sync, creating a beautiful earth that lived in a form of peace at this moment. They were often associated with 'light' and 'dark', 'good' and 'evil'. But they were truly neither. The sun could cause droughts, starving the masses, the moon pull could change the tides, wiping out seaside towns.

There were many different things that were also considered that way. Magic for one. Well, probably the most important. With the war just over.

The creatures of magic seemed to have some idea that things were easily sorted into either the 'good' and 'evil' category. Often, people were scorned or locked away that believed otherwise. But, their eyes had opened now, opened to the ideal that there were shadows.

Life went on, and now things didn't seem as stuck, in a way. Now, the unforgivable didn't seem as horrid. The killing curse was used to give a painless death to those suffering from incurable curses from death eaters now gone. The cruciatus was being used as a form of shock therapy, to help those whose minds had broken. The imperious was being used to stop wizards and witches from following their families into the great beyond.

The world was in tatters. The good were evil as they stole from the burning houses. The evil were the good as they helped the injured, trying to clear their names.

The sun and moon were both evil, showing that life went on through their pain. The sun and moon were good, giving relief from the terrible of the both.


	5. Pain

Red.

White.

Black.

The ruined shack had wind whistling through its splintered walls: Claw marks ripped wood, curtains lay in faded tatters. Dried blood painted the walls, the floor, the doors, the boarded windows.

But freshly red, ashen white and limp black lay in its midst. New. Fresh. Agonised. Gasping. Pain.

The man's chest rose and fell. Pain. Gasping breaths that seemed to leave him more breathless with each rise. Drowning, drowning in red. Pain. Pain. Pain.

Trembling muscles, twitching. Endlessly writhing against his will. Not still, but not moving. A state of continuous, minimal twitches brought by the pain, the poison. Everything he did no centered around the pain.

Was it night? Day? He couldn't remember. Was it important? He could swear he was supposed to do something, warn someone. Did he need to? Was it that important? The thought tried to break through the red tinged haze, he almost saw clearly.

He needed to tell him. Needed to tell him that he had always protected him.

Then, in he burst.

Pale.

Dirty.

Horrified.


End file.
